


Sua sponte

by merulanoir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Bonding, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22558282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: “Heats are not talked about. They are a sacrament, and one that is to be taken privately with the intended one. They’re sacred, not to be treated lightly or spoken about.”“But what do you know about them? From a scientific point of view?”“Science, Regis, doesn’t touch the heat. It’s born purely out of feeling.”“I don’t understand.”“You might. If you fall in love.”
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 26
Kudos: 296





	Sua sponte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [con_affetto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/con_affetto/gifts).



> This fic exists because [Kiko](https://twitter.com/conaffellatio) and I were horny once upon a time. Does exactly what it says on the tin. 
> 
> Wikipedia: _In law, sua sponte (Latin: "of his, her, its or their own accord") or suo motu ("on its own motion") describes an act of authority taken without formal prompting from another party._

His dreams were troubled, so when a pleading tendril reached into his mind through the aether, he became aware of it instantly. He welcomed the query, because anything was better than wading through a marshland of flaking images and intents. His mind was so full of everything, and most of it he didn’t dare to touch. 

There was a hesitant silence, and then Regis’ mind adjusted to temporarily house another consciousness. It was a young one, not fifty human years.

_ Talk to me. I’m here. _

**_I’m sorry. You don’t know me, but I was told to seek you out._ **

_ I’m here. What do you need? _

**_I was injured. I can’t heal. I need help._ **

Regis shifted in his sleep, momentarily aware of his crypt. All the candles had burned to stubs, and it was dark where he lay. Then the dream crested again and he was back inside it.

_ Who told me where to find me? _

**_Dettlaff. He said you might be able to help._ **

Regis smiled in his sleep. His brother, of course. Sheltering the young and lost ones, even after getting hurt so badly. It whispered of healing to him.

_ What can I do for you? _

**_I can’t heal._ **

_ Where are you now? _

**_Almost at your crypt. I didn’t dare to enter but…_ **

_ Come in, let me see. _

The dream cracked and then peeled off like an old skin he outgrew the second he opened his eyes. World was close to him, and the issue that had troubled his sleep pressed against his mind; it wasn’t unpleasant, but Regis shied away from it. For a moment it clung to him, and another voice whispered inside his head.

_ I’m here. It’s okay. Please come find me. _

The sound of unsteady feet scraping against the stone steps pulled him fully to the present moment. Confusion transformed to worry, and his mist form flew through the darkness. Regis landed just in time to catch the youngling as her feet gave out. He was mindful with his claws, but the bruxa made a pathetic whimper deep in her throat.

She was trying to cling onto her human form, but it slipped away inch by inch. There was a gaping wound in her abdomen. It was bleeding sluggishly, and Regis could smell punctured organs among the general olfactory chaos of cortisol and adrenaline.

“Please,” the bruxa rasped. Her eyes switched to their true state, but the alarm never disappeared. “Can you help me?”

“You’re safe,” Regis murmured to her. He gathered the wilting thing in his arms and flew back into his crypt, depositing her on the bedding. Her breathing was shallow, and while her heartbeat was still steady Regis knew she was in danger.

“Who did this to you?” he asked as he carefully felt around the wound. The bruxa hissed in pain.

“A garkain. It had been stalking me for a fortnight.”

Regis’ felt how his brows crept up. He was holding his own human form firmly in place out of old habits.

“A garkain? Why would one of our own attack you?”

The bruxa must have heard how suspicious his tone was because her face turned pleading.

“It was from my old pack. I left them because I want to live close to humans. Most scorned me, but the garkain was angrier than them.”

“Was?” Regis asked.

“I killed it,” the bruxa said, looking away. “I’m not going back anyway, so—”

“It’s alright,” Regis rushed to reassure her. “I won’t hold it against you.”

The bruxa managed a thoughtful smile. Her skin was clammy to touch, and there was an odd smell about her, something that tugged at Regis but which he couldn’t place. 

“Dettlaff spoke of you. I see why he would tell me to come find you,” she said with that same smile. Regis mirrored it.

“Well, I’m glad he is rejoining the living,” he remarked. “Your injury is threaded in with the aether. Even with your attacker dead, the anger is lingering. It is preventing your regeneration.”

“I can feel it,” she murmured. “The garkain was livid. It told me I had betrayed the pack.”

Regis sighed. There was a reason he didn’t much care for his lesser cousins. The longer he lived among humans the clearer it became there was no black and white, only shades of grey. The lesser vampires had no capacity for embracing the concept of nuances.

“You need blood,” Regis said. “Your regeneration is delayed and it will not start again until you have some.”

“I know,” the bruxa said. “I'm sorry to ask, I know you don't partake anymore.”

“This is not the same.” Regis took a deep breath. He could still smell the weird tang and it was making him uneasy. “I want to help you. Do you have a name?”

“Clara,” she said. “That is the name I picked for myself.”

Regis smiled. He didn't bother to hide his teeth. Most of the agitation faded from Clara’s face.

“There is one more thing,” Clara said. “The reason why I was out in the woods and was attacked.” She took a deep breath, and Regis noticed that she looked nervous again.

“I'm in heat. I had to leave my human partner for a few days so he’d be safe.”

It clicked. Regis took another deep breath, and now he could smell it. He had not recognized the smell earlier because higher vampires did not experience spontaneous heats.

“Is that a problem for you?”

“Not necessarily,” Regis said. “I don't know what to expect, but I still want to help.”

Clara closed her eyes and Regis felt her reach out through the aether. He allowed it, even when he knew what it would reveal.

“You are bonded.” Clara sounded breathless. “It's a new bond. It feels raw.”

Regis nodded. Even when he was awake, he could feel another soul pressing against his. It should have felt too intimate, but it was only comfortable. That was the thing that scared him the most.

_ Regis, please. _

Regis briefly closed his eyes as he tried to withdraw from the link. The bond was so alive, and everything it promised made his insides burn with sheer want, but he couldn’t accept it. 

“Will they mind?” Clara asked. “I promise I will not take more than I need. I won't touch you.”

“It's fine,” Regis said. “They don't need to know.” Clara’s eyes grew wide but before she could voice her confusion, Regis rolled up his sleeve.

“Here.”

He was not feeling nervous, per se. The mess he and Geralt had landed themselves in would need to be sorted out, but this was not the time. Someone needed his help.

Clara carefully took his hand but didn’t raise it to her lips. Her dark eyes were now full of worry.

“I’m not sure I like this.”

Regis managed a smile. “You’re not making me cheat on my—mate.” He stumbled on the word because it felt dangerous and so right, all at the same time. What’s worse, the second he uttered it he felt Geralt across the bond, trying to pull him in. It was careful, almost gentle, and Regis felt horrible when he resisted.

_ Regis. _

He wanted to give in.

Clara’s look turned almost unimpressed. It was something coming from a fledgling two steps removed from death, and Regis felt sheepish.

“Does your bond mate  _ know  _ you are bonded?” she asked after the silence became excruciatingly awkward.

Regis cleared his throat. “It was—an accident.”

A vision flashed through his head; Geralt holding him, lifting his head with all the care he could muster; Dettlaff hovering close by, murmuring unintelligible apologies; Tesham Mutna looming in the backdrop, reminding them all of what had almost come to pass. Wet breaths, rattling, too much injury to voice a protest, and then—

And then the moment when Regis felt the bond knit them together. Overwhelming comfort, knowledge that they were together, and on top of it all, dread. It shouldn’t have happened. A bond could only form if both individuals were hoping for it, yearning for that connection. Without reciprocity there could be no bonding, simple as that.

“I’m sorry,” Clara said. She finally lifted Regis’ wrist to her mouth. “I hope you figure it out. If a bond was formed, it means—”

“I know,” Regis interrupted her, looking down. “It’s just...not very likely.”

Clara looked like she wanted to say something, but then she just sighed. Her breath tickled the underside of Regis’ wrist. She took a deep, slow breath, and Regis turned to watch as she sank her fangs through his skin. She made a low, relieved sound as the blood began to flow.

Geralt’s blood had made him gain back some colors, and his skin no longer had the pallor of a drowned man. Clara drank with care, not spilling a drop, but Regis’ breath caught as the poison in her fangs hit his system. Suddenly his head felt foggy, and he swayed where he was sitting next to his bedding.

Geralt had given his blood willingly to heal Regis, but no one could have foreseen the end result. It simply should not have been possible. Regis felt nauseous as the thoughts slipped free from behind the wall he’d put up. He tried to fight them, but memories resurfaced; they were vivid, and at their heels followed the aching longing that had taken over him after the accident.

_ Regis came to his senses with a gasp; he pulled away from where Geralt was holding him. They had been propped up under an old archway, the witcher cradling him close to his warm and solid body. Regis scrambled backwards from him, his mind turning itself inside out as he tried to understand what he was feeling; something had changed and he felt profoundly safe, except for the fact that he was also terrified to feel Geralt’s mind right next to his own. Even the blood bond wasn’t that intimate. _

Clara shuddered when her regeneration picked up. Regis watched as the wound in her abdomen slowly began to heal, but his mind was far away. He was once again watching Geralt, cataloguing how the early morning sun hit the white hair, and how pleased the witcher looked. Relief and hope were trying to creep along the bond, and Regis shuddered as he remembered how desperately he wanted to accept them.

Clara finally pulled away. She licked the wound until it closed, and Regis felt his chest grow tight. The memories faded a bit, but they never left him, and his throat felt hot and tight as he felt Geralt reaching out again.

_ Please. Regis. I— _

“You should go now,” Regis breathed. His head was swimming, but it wasn’t only because the bond was trying to gain the upper hand. His skin was burning up.

Clara got to her feet. She licked her lips as her human form took shape.

“You should go to him,” she whispered. “I felt your bond in your blood, it’s re—”

“Please,” Regis said, louder than he intended. “Just, go. I’ll contact you later.”

Clara’s eyes were sad and conflicted, but she nodded. Regis felt her cold fingers card through his hair once.

“Listen to the moon, Regis,” she murmured. Then she was gone. The only trace was the lingering smell of her heat, now crawling under Regis’ skin, too.

***

_ “Heats are not talked about. They are a sacrament, and one that is to be taken privately with the intended one. They’re sacred, not to be treated lightly or spoken about.” _

_ “But what do you know about them? From a scientific point of view?” _

_ “Science, Regis, doesn’t touch the heat. It’s born purely out of feeling.” _

_ “I don’t understand.” _

_ “You might. If you fall in love.” _

The words of his mentor echoed through his head. Regis curled up on the proper bed he kept in the adjacent chamber, and his body burned up. He knew what was happening, but how anyone could mistake it for a pleasant feeling was beyond him. How Clara was able to function was another question he thought about, briefly, but then another fit of shudders ripped through him.

His skin was flushed and sweaty. It had been mere hours, and his heart rate was climbing slowly as his head was taken over. Little by little Regis felt his grip on the bond yield. He had kept it under the metaphorical lock and key, so as not to tax Geralt too much. They had tried to go back to normal life after they had agreed to—

_ You didn’t agree to anything,  _ Regis reminded himself.  _ You got terrified and refused to examine this, after which you have been avoiding him for a week. _

It was more honest than he had managed to be during that week, but Regis’ head was simultaneously light and dazed; he was shivering like he was running a fever, and his throat felt dry.

Geralt had not tried to reach him through the bond after Clara left. Regis had tried to go about his day, but he had soon been forced to admit it was futile. His thoughts scattered like ash whatever he tried to do, and a pressing, nebulous need for something crept closer and closer. It was in the aether, bleeding into reality and enveloping him.

“I didn’t mean to,” Regis whispered to no one in particular, muffling his voice into his pillow. He had lit a few candles, but their flames were blurry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to go like this.”

He slipped into a doze. His dreams were hazy and without form, but the aether itself was coming alive inside his head; it slid closer and cocooned him, then slinking inside of him until they were one and the same. It was reassuring, and at some point Regis yielded; he didn’t know what would happen, but he wasn’t strong enough to resist. He shuddered, and he knew he was in trouble. 

He was in love. Quite by accident.

Regis woke up with a jolt. He flung the covers back and gasped for air, but his body was on fire. It was alive and inside him, and it took him several seconds to understand the feeling wasn’t invasive; he was slick with sweat and his head was swimming, and he was so hard it bordered on uncomfortable. Without thinking, Regis ripped off his tunic. The fabric felt coarse against his hypersensitive skin, and the sheets were only marginally better as he collapsed back down to kick off his trousers.

His hand was already sliding down his abdomen when Regis surfaced enough to know what he was doing. He took several deep breaths to calm down, but it was futile. His heart was beating too fast, and he felt his cock throb in the same rhythm, begging to be touched.

Regis wrapped his fingers around his erection and hissed. It was too much, too sensitive, and still he craved something; he was leaking and shivering, and his thoughts were buried under a dull roar as his hand moved faster and faster.

He needed to ride this out. He couldn’t leave his crypt like this. His climax built too fast and then halted, almost there, and Regis felt how his chest heaved. There simply wasn’t enough air in the world to see him through this.

He came with a sharp gasp, much too fast. Regis shuddered as his cock pulsed, and then he became aware of something new. He stilled, body still riding out the unsatisfying orgasm, and then he moaned.

He was getting wet.

It was everything but unpleasant, but the feeling was still jarring in its newness; he’d heard about this happening, but it was rare. He’d never imagined he would be one of the individuals who bridged some the gap between genders. It was just an evolutionary quirk of higher vampires, or so he had thought. Some males of his species apparently developed both sets of the glands that take part in sexual arousal. They could be observed only during a heat, and thus they were more of a rumor than anything else.

The thoughts flickered through his head, and Regis tried to cling to their academic cadence. It was futile, because he felt the wetness as it built, and it was distracting and disruptive, and arousing beyond all belief. Regis realized his hand had never stopped moving, and that his erection was showing no signs of going away. He pulled his hand off like he had been burned and tried to find a position where he could be comfortable.

It was impossible. His head was hazy with pure need. He needed to be filled and claimed. He needed his mate, but how on earth could he even think about it? He had no right to assume Geralt wanted any of this, and even if he did, how could Regis inflict himself on a human while he was like this? 

Regis gasped as the arousal crested again, and before he knew it he was touching himself again. His legs fell open as his free hand crep lower, and then he physically felt the thoughts gutter out as he brushed against his hole; he was leaking, and the lust ached. Regis couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel like to get fucked like this; there would be no need for preparation, his mate could just push in and—

Regis heaved a dry sob and turned on his side. His heart was hurting.

***

It began surreptitiously. Geralt was trying to focus on the armor he was patching, but his thoughts were drifting. That was nothing new, per se, but today was worse than usual. All attempts to think about daily life and chores eventually circled back to Regis.

Geralt knew something had happened when he had given the vampire his blood. His mind had been a jumbled mess of terror, but there were a few key memories that he went over and over when he was feeling confused.

When Syanna vanished in a swirl of flowers, Geralt felt his blood turn to ice. He knew Dettlaff’s rage would run him through, and that surviving wasn’t likely. It was a decidedly unfair fight even with Regis on his side, because while his friend was a higher vampire, he was weakened by his abstinence; the difference between Dettlaff and Regis had never been as evident as it was then.

Geralt remembered how he tried to keep up. He managed for a while, but then a well-placed kick knocked him backwards, and he crashed into a low wall. He saw Dettlaff whirl around and charge, and then in a split second Regis materialized between them. This time Dettlaff’s claws went straight through him, almost ripping him in two. Regis was knocked backwards, and Geralt was struggling to catch him even as his own ribcage felt like it was full of splinters.

There was a tense moment when Geralt completely forgot about Dettlaff. This time he knew it was Regis who got himself impaled, and his mind was taken over by a shrill alarm; he couldn’t lose Regis. Not now, not when Geralt had finally gotten him back, and when there were too many things still unsaid, charging the air between them.

The next clear memory was of Dettlaff creeping closer. Geralt was ready to bare his teeth when he saw how all fight was draining from the vampire; he looked horrified, face ashen and hands shaking as his claws shrunk back.

“Regis,” Dettlaff’s voice was just a faint rasp, but Geralt knew what he meant.

Regis wasn’t healing. Geralt had seen his regeneration getting slower and slower as their impossible quest dragged them onwards, and his heart had been gnawed hollow by the worry; now he was looking at his worst fear.

“Why isn’t he healing?” Geralt asked. His voice broke on the last syllable.

“He is too weak,” Dettlaff whispered. He looked nauseous as he took in the bloody mess. “I did too much damage.”

“Fuck you,” Geralt choked out. His chest was growing tight. “You’re not gonna take him away from me.” The words were dragged out of him, from some deep and dark place where fear lived.

Regis blinked and then a faint spark of life returned to his eyes. Geralt held him close as his friend struggled to breathe with his broken lungs.

“It hurts,” Regis murmured. The words were slurred and slow.

“I know,” Geralt said. With a hand that shook so badly it was a wonder he managed anything, he reached to unbuckle the gorget. It fell away somewhere, and Geralt watched Regis follow it with hazy eyes.

“You need to take my blood, Regis,” Geralt said. He hoped to sound reassuring, but it came out broken and lost. He couldn’t lose Regis again.

Regis blinked and grimaced. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A hysterical laughter escaped Geralt. “Hurt  _ me _ ? You’re not healing.”

Regis closed his eyes, and Geralt felt panic stab him. 

“Regis! Listen to me!” At his words the vampire managed a weak smile.

“I know,” he whispered. He turned his head and nuzzled the hand that was supporting it. “But the risk is too great—”

“Fuck that.” Geralt knew he was approaching a breaking point, and the longer he spent debating this with Regis, less likely healing would get. 

Regis felt like he weighed nothing as Geralt lifted him closer, until their faces were only inches apart. Regis looked at him with anxiety, but there was something else on his face too. Geralt had no presence of mind to decipher it just then.

“You’re gonna bite me and heal, okay?” he said. He was vaguely aware of Dettlaff hovering nearby, a dark shadow wrought from regret, but he didn’t give a shit. Geralt’s mind was thoroughly occupied with saving Regis, because he knew what he felt for his friend; it had always been there, and leaving it unaddressed like this would end him.

Regis took in another rattling, painful breath as Geralt slowly guided his mouth to his neck. One hand gripped Geralt’s wrist weakly.

“You mean more to me than anything else,” Regis whispered right before he sank his fangs through the skin, and Geralt bit through his own lip to stay quiet.

It hurt; it hurt like getting stabbed in the neck, burning and demanding. But more than agony Geralt felt relief; Regis would heal. He wouldn’t go away again. 

They might finally get to be together.

The last thought trickled through his mind uninvited, but Geralt acknowledged it anyway. It was too fragile a truth to be ignored, not when he knew he had fucking fallen for Regis way before Stygga, way before he and Yennefer broke the djinn’s spell. He was in love with his best friend, and he knew there was no other way he would choose to feel.

The world blurred and twisted, and Geralt gasped. He wasn’t sure whether Regis was still drinking because right then everything faded away. There was just perfect stillness inside his head, all the adrenaline and terror melting away until nothing remained. It was blissful and unsettling.

Then the emptiness was turned inside out; Geralt gasped, right when he felt Regis lick the wound closed, and his mind shifted and quivered. Instead of empty he was suddenly so full, filled to the brim with certainty. Geralt couldn’t find words to describe the feeling so he just let it carry him away in a wave, his heartbeat thrumming through him like a tether to reality.

Regis’ hands were clinging onto him somewhere very far away. Their bodies were pressed together, but inside Geralt’s head they were closer than ever before; he could feel Regis, feel his shock and agitation, and on top of it all was something that felt like fire. It was too bright to look at, and still Geralt gravitated towards it because he recognized it; he felt that too, he had been nursing that same flame all these years.

He lost time and place. There was just what felt like safety and comfort inside his head. Regis was there, he was alive, and they were together. That was all that mattered.

Geralt realized he had been staring at his busted gorget for a long time without moving a muscle. He blinked and looked up, but only the familiar walls of Corvo Bianco greeted him.

He was getting lost inside his head more and more. Something had happened when he gave Regis his blood, and that something had bound him to the vampire. There was a mental link between them, and it was nothing like the djinn’s spell that had bound him to Yen. This felt natural and necessary, where the djinn magic had been foreign; Geralt had spent hours drifting in the connection, because even when Regis refused to see him, through the new bond Geralt could feel him.

He blinked away the haze as he slowly resumed his work. Regis had woken up the following morning, almost fully healed. Geralt had spent the entire night drifting in and out of sleep, lulled into comfort by the new connection and Regis’ steady heartbeat. Holding Regis had made Geralt’s heart ache; he’d wanted it for so long.

When he woke up, Regis had been scared. His eyes had gone wide and Geralt had felt him through the bond, sheer terror coursing through him. Geralt had felt a pressing need to soothe it, and then his own mind had awoken to it; he had tried to push reassurance into the bond, but Regis had recoiled. He was shaking and pale, and refused to let Geralt touch him.

He’d left before either of them got any answers, and after that they had not seen each other.

Geralt chewed on his lip as he tried once again to make some sense of what was happening to them. His body was feeling clumsier than usual today, and an odd awareness of the way everything felt and smelled was disrupting his mind.

Something had bound them together, and that something scared Regis so much he had all but disappeared. His parting words were a constant echo inside Geralt’s head:

_ “No. Please, no. This was not meant to happen. Not like this.” _

They hurt. Geralt swallowed as he tried to find a comfortable position. He wanted to go to Regis. On top of the constant worry, Geralt missed him; the feeling had always been there, but now that he let himself think of the way he felt it was much too intense. The bond was soothing, but it pulled at him, made him want to be closer to Regis. 

As the agitation crested Geralt abandoned the pretense. He had thought it was just his own restlessness, but if there was a remote possibility Regis was in trouble he needed to check in on him. 

The cool night air soothed his clammy skin, and Geralt shook away all guises of indifference: something was wrong, and the closer he rode to the cemetery the clearer he felt it. The bond pulled him in, and the feeling of his skin being too tight grew more and more intense.

Something was not right. Geralt unmounted and immediately knew it. He was uncomfortably aware of everything, the sounds and smells, and he had no idea what to make of it. It should have felt invasive, but the bond almost quivered; a shiver ran down his spine.

“Go home, girl. This might take a while and you’re not safe here,” Geralt murmured to Roach. He was glad he had taken the time to train her to return to the vineyard, because leaving her unattended at the cemetery was asking for trouble.

The crypt door was unlocked. Geralt smelled a faint whiff of something that made his stomach tight, but as he descended the stairs his hearing picked up a sound; alarm lit his head up as he flew down the stairs, because it was Regis, and the sound he made was strained and tense.

Geralt saw a few candles burning in the other room, and then he was standing in the doorway and he almost stumbled as he came to a halt. Black, feverish eyes met him.

Regis was trying to sit up and pull a sheet to cover himself, but Geralt barely registered that. Everything narrowed down to what he could smell, and it made his head spin. It was so intense he barely understood it at first, but then a dark, primal part inside him coiled tight.

_ Touch. Soothe. Claim,  _ it whispered.

“No,” Regis rasped. His voice was hoarse, and he seemed completely unaware of how his entire body swayed towards Geralt.

Geralt realized he had moved only when he was standing next to the bed. Regis fell back against the pillows and shuddered, and Geralt knew right away Regis was not injured; he smelled like sex, in an intense and raw way that made him grow hard without thinking about the possible causes. Geralt’s eyes roamed over the vampire, who met his gaze without blinking.

“You were supposed to stay away,” Regis said. He shuddered again, and Geralt followed his hands as they gripped the headboard. It looked like Regis was trying to hold himself back.

“What’s happening?” Geralt heard how breathless he sounded. His clothes were feeling too tight and hot, and the bond was tugging at his mind.

_ I can’t hold back much longer,  _ a thought bled over, and Regis’ eyes grew wide. He was starting to shake, and Geralt didn’t have to look to confirm; Regis was hard under the flimsy cover he had thrown over himself, and he smelled like he had already come.

Geralt licked his lips. He wanted to give in and kiss Regis. He wanted it more than anything, but if the vampire was somehow poisoned, he couldn’t—

“Geralt,” Regis whispered. His breath hitched. “Help me.”

Geralt surged forwards and they crashed together. His hands cupped Regis’ head firmly as he kissed the vampire, and his mind caught fire; Regis smelled like pure sex, and his skin was hot under Geralt’s palms. Regis whimpered into the kiss and his tongue surged out to taste him, and Geralt growled. 

He needed to get naked right now, because Regis slipped down on the bed and pulled him closer, and Geralt was desperate to feel him everywhere. The bond was singing inside his head as he tried to rip away the light armor he had buckled himself into, and Regis’ hands joined him.

“Please, please,” Regis panted as Geralt threw the pauldrons and gauntlets away and ripped the cuirass off; he heard his shirt tear as he wrestled it away, but the only thing that mattered was getting as close as possible to Regis. His trousers were kicked off without any semblance of grace, and then Geralt’s heart skipped a beat.

Regis was burning up, and his legs fell open for Geralt to press closer. He kissed Regis messily, feeling that dark need press down on him; he had to touch and feel, he had to show Regis he was safe and cherished.

“What—what do you need?” Geralt gasped into the kiss. He tried to pull back a bit but Regis tightened his hold around his neck. His eyes were half-wild, and Geralt felt his cock where it dug into his hip.

“Touch me,” Regis breathed. “Please, just—”

Geralt sneaked a hand between them and wrapped it around Regis, and the vampire moaned. His cock was hard and leaking, and the smell of arousal was rising off every inch of his skin. Geralt felt a needy shudder under his palms, and the second Regis’ grip loosened he slid lower and licked him into his mouth without a thought.

_ Bright, burning, everywhere.  _

_ Mine, mine. _

_ Please don’t leave me, please— _

The bond engulfed them both as Regis bucked into his mouth. Geralt started to suck him, because something was doing this, something was making Regis react to him like this, and it should have felt alarming. Instead he could only feel relief wash over him as he finally, finally got to hold Regis close and feel his heartbeat race under his fingers. The sheets under the vampire were sticky and wet with something, and Geralt drew in a long breath through his nose to smell it as he pulled up.

Regis’ fingers gripped his hair and pushed him back down, and Geralt moaned as he felt himself grow harder. He loved sex with partners who knew what they wanted, and while Regis was almost incoherent with lust he was still able to show him what he craved.

Geralt felt Regis’ muscles pull taut entirely too soon, and he sucked harder. The bond urged him on, soothing over any alarm or anxiety, until only a cherished haze remained. Regis came with a shout and a violent buck of his hips and Geralt swallowed around him, holding on to his hips and trying to keep his head when the bond turned into bright light.

Regis was panting when he finally came down. Geralt let his cock slip free, and he noticed it never really got soft. Regis shivered as Geralt stroked hands over his flanks, and then the vampire pulled him closer.

They settled into a kiss, Geralt lying on top of Regis who didn’t seem to mind at all. Geralt carded his fingers through the sweaty, curly hair just like he had wanted to do innumerable times before, and he knew he was smiling into the kiss. When he finally pulled back, Regis’ arms were back around his neck.

“Hey,” Geralt whispered. His cock was resting against Regis’, and the heat was making his head hazy. Regis was growing hard again, and his face was wrought with need.

“Geralt,” Regis managed. “I’m sorry. I need you.” His eyes were growing alarmed again and Geralt leaned into yet another kiss without thinking. He tried to keep it lighter, but Regis sucked on his bottom lip, and he barely stopped himself from rutting against the vampire.

“Please,” Regis breathed into his mouth. “Fuck me.”

“You sure?” Geralt asked, even when he could feel his cock twitch. Regis met his gaze with an urgent nod, and then the bond rushed to him again.

_ Please, please. I need you. _

_ I’m still here. _

_ I want you so much. I have wanted you for such a long time. _

Geralt didn’t know whose thoughts he was feeling, but they were aflame inside his head, echoing back and forth and making his hesitation melt, until all that remained was a fierce need to soothe Regis.

“Got any oil, or anything?” Geralt murmured into the kiss. He pulled back and then he was relieved to see Regis surface from the haze. The vampire glanced away and looked...embarrassed?

“You won’t need any,” he muttered, so quiet Geralt almost missed it. He blinked, and then Regis grabbed his hand and dragged it down. Geralt gasped when his fingers met a slick mess and hot skin, and Regis shuddered.

“Heat,” the vampire gasped. He forced his eyes open and bit his lip. “Heat causes this.”

Geralt stroked his fingers up Regis’ hard cock again and then gave in to the need. He felt around the slick skin until he found Regis’ entrance, and when he pushed in there was no resistance. It felt foreign, but his gut drew tight with want. Regis moaned as Geralt’s fingers stretched him open, aided by the slick he had apparently been leaking for hours.

“You sure?” Geralt panted. The bond made the heat bounce back and forth between them, feeding itself, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

_ Yes, yes, yes. _

“Yes,” Regis growled. His eyes were growing frantic, and Geralt wasted no more time. He pulled his fingers out and gripped his cock, and then pushed in. He tried to go slow, but a loud moan rocked Regis under him, and there was no resistance, just slick heat.

“Gods,” Geralt breathed. He pushed the rest of the way in, and Regis pulled him closer again. He blinked open his eyes. They were finally losing the last traces of the alarm, and something primal crept over the bond. Geralt started to move, deep inside Regis, and he felt his mind accept this, too.

_ Mine. Finally mine. _

_ Yes. Yours. Yes. _

_ I need you so much. _

_ I have wanted this from the moment we met. _

Again there was no sense to the thoughts that raced between them; they were wordless, echoes of half-formed intents and cradled memories, something old and new mixed into a swirl that was almost too bright to look at. Geralt pressed his forehead against Regis’ and picked up the pace, and the vampire met his thrust for thrust. Regis was making small, high sounds of pleasure as they rocked together, and his skin felt like the best thing Geralt had ever touched.

Everything about this felt right. He had spent so many years hoping and longing, and now he was finally allowed to have Regis here in his arms, shuddering apart because of the pleasure. It was the most precious thing imaginable.

“I’m here, I’ve got you, come on.” 

Regis was growing tight around him. His eyes were wide and there was a tiny, breathy smile on his lips. It was pure bliss, and Geralt bent down to kiss Regis as the vampire gasped and came again, this time arching off the bed and spilling himself between them. Geralt was dragged over, because the bond made the edges of reality blur just then; there was just the two of them, twisted together in body and mind alike.

Geralt buried his face into Regis’ neck as he tried and failed to get his breathing under control. The bond pulled tighter around them both, and Regis’ hands released his hair to stroke slowly down his back. They stayed there for a while, grounding themselves with contact. Geralt pressed a kiss to the too fast pulse, and then he gathered his courage to pull back enough to meet Regis’ eye.

The vampire stared up at him, and his face was more open than Geralt had ever remembered seeing it; even when they had waken up in the ruins of Tesham Mutna, Regis had still worn some mask of his. Now there was only him, the black eyes wide and uncertain, a vulnerable twist to his mouth.

Geralt slipped out and rolled on to his side. Moving away from Regis made the bond recoil, but he wanted to give him a chance to reassess; Regis had mentioned a heat, and Geralt wanted to know he was coherent before they succumbed to this again.

He opened his arms, and the two seconds Regis hesitated felt like two years. Then his breath hitched and he crawled into his lap, hugging him close. Geralt relaxed, breath whooshing out, and he buried his face into Regis’ messy hair. It smelled familiar, but the scent of sex was almost washing out the herbal odor.

“You okay?” Geralt murmured. He started to stroke Regis’ back, and it still felt perfect to him.

“I’m so sorry,” Regis said. When Geralt tilted his chin up, the vampire looked to be close to yielding to the fear again. 

“What happened?” Geralt asked. He tried to press comfort into the bond again, and this time it worked; Regis’ shoulders slumped and he relaxed minutely. His eyes were still sad and anxious.

“I had to...help someone,” Regis finally said. “She needed my blood to heal.”

Geralt sighed. He pressed a kiss to Regis’ forehead, and the barber-surgeon looked at him with the same uncertainty.

“She caused this, right?” Geralt asked. He wanted to make Regis relax properly.

“Yes.” Regis looked away again. “I thought I could manage on my own.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt huffed, and his tone made Regis’ eyes snap to him. Geralt swallowed. “You just fucked off after what happened, and I never got a chance to tell you it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Regis said in a faint voice. His eyes were growing desperate again. “You giving me blood made something happen. It wasn’t supposed to go like that, we were not supposed to bond.”

Geralt felt something settle into place. Hearing that Regis felt this too, felt the mental link they shared, was comforting.

“I don’t mind,” Geralt said again.

“You had no choice,” Regis spat out. He looked like he was torn between being terrified and pointing his anger at himself. Geralt felt him grown tense where they were pressed together.

“We were not supposed to bond, I was not supposed to want that so badly it completely overrode your will. And now this—”

Geralt growled and dragged Regis into a kiss. There was nothing gentle about it, and he did it only to get the vampire to shut up. Regis’ breath hitched again, and he kissed back equally hard, clinging to him by the time they separated.

“Fuck you,” Geralt gasped. Regis’ eyes grew almost comically wide. “How about you ask how I feel? Am I complaining? Did I fucking stutter back at Tesham Mutna?”

_ Geralt watched Regis press against the stone wall, clearly hoping he could just melt through it. He was waking up, and Geralt felt him through the bond. He just wanted to reach out and hold Regis, because he was in love and he thought Regis might be, too. _

_ “No.” Regis sounded horrified. _

_ “It’s okay,” Geralt said slowly. “I can feel you. I can feel what you feel.” _

_ “No,” Regis repeated in a voice constricted by dread. Geralt tried to understand; what he was feeling through the bond was so intense, entirely there and commanding his attention, and it made him feel wanted and safe. _

_ “No no, get out of my head,” Regis gasped as he stumbled to his feet. It was so unlike his usual easy grace Geralt could only stare. _

_ “I feel it too,” Geralt said, the words slipping out and more full of confused hurt than he meant to let on. “I feel that way too.” _

_ Regis was gone before he got to his feet. _

Geralt stared at Regis, only inches away from him now. The vampire was blinking rapidly, but the tension was slowly, slowly thawing. Geralt cupped his face, gentler this time.

“I don’t know what happened to us, but you’re crazy if you think I’ll give it up.”

Regis bit his lips and screwed his eyes shut. He took several deep breaths to calm down, and Geralt let him. He resumed sorting through the tangled dark hair, and the silence that curled around them felt a touch gentler.

“I didn’t know,” Regis finally whispered. He wiped his eyes and looked lost. “Bonding isn’t possible unless...unless it’s mutual.”

“See?” Geralt smiled. He found he couldn’t stop touching Regis now that it was finally, finally allowed. His hand crept lower and when he reached the bony hip he stilled.

“So, heat?” he asked when he felt a shudder under his palm. He didn’t know what to think, apart from being desperately thankful that Regis was starting to see sense.

“Yes,” Regis muttered. He finally looked at Geralt. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and the color was refusing to fade from his cheeks. “It’s the first time for me. I didn’t know what to expect. I never knew she could infect me with it.”

“I don’t mind,” Geralt laughed, and finally Regis’ lips twitched. The vampire licked his lips, and as Geralt resumed petting him he gradually relaxed. Geralt could feel Regis’ half-hard cock against his lower abdomen.

“What’s with the slick?” Geralt asked. His hand had slipped to Regis’ ass, and he willed himself to stay still. He could feel himself twitch at the memory.

Regis screwed his eyes shut with a grimace. “It’s embarrassing.”

Geralt kissed him, pressing himself flush with Regis and relishing the moan the contact drew from him. He thrust his tongue into Regis’ mouth, making the kiss as filthy as he could.

“More like extremely hot,” Geralt breathed when he pulled back. Regis was panting. He was hard all over again, and his hips were thrusting shallowly into Geralt’s hip.

“Evolutionary quirk,” Regis gasped. Geralt raised an eyebrow, impressed by the vampire’s mental faculties. “Vampires have a set of glands much like humans. They are responsible for arousal. Some of us...develop both.”

“Did you know you had them?” Geralt asked. He dipped his fingers to the cleft of Regis’ ass, and had to suppress a shudder or his own; Regis was absolutely wet with it, thighs soaked slick with cum and whatever he was leaking.

“No,” Regis said. His words ended in a whine as Geralt drove his fingers inside.

It was amazing. There was no resistance like Geralt kept expecting. He was familiar with fucking someone’s ass, and this was absolutely nothing like it. Regis was wetter than any woman he’d ever been with, and clearly sensitive down there. Geralt fucked him with two fingers, slow and teasing, until Regis growled and twisted himself on top.

“More,” he gasped. His eyes had bled fully black. Regis bent down to lick and nuzzle his neck, and Geralt thrust a third finger in. His own cock was rubbing against Regis’ thigh, and the slickness was perfect to rut against as he fingerfucked Regis.

Both of them lost track of time. Geralt felt himself creep closer and closer to climax again just because Regis was reduced to a panting, begging mess. He drove himself down on Geralt’s fingers relentlessly, until they were both sweaty. 

Geralt could tell, through the haze, that the heat was bleeding over to him as well. There was an ache settling into him, a need to be filled too. He thrust his fingers as deep as he could, and Regis came with a gasp, clenching around him and whimpering. Geralt watched him, heart so full and sure.

Regis didn’t go soft this time either. He slumped down and the next thing Geralt knew was teeth scraping his neck. He felt a stray worry, but the bond rushed to them both.

_ I’d never harm you. _

_ I love you. _

_ Safe here, with me. _

This time he could tell it came from Regis. When he looked, Regis was staring at him.

“You’d let me feed,” he whispered as he nuzzled Geralt’s neck and then carefully reached for his cock. “You trust me that much.”

“Yeah,” Geralt said, breath punching out when Regis tugged at him. “I felt something—” He tried to reach for that certainty, and it came without prompting; an absolute wish to keep him safe.

“I could never harm you.” Regis sounded wondering himself. He licked Geralt’s neck as the hesitation melted away. “You’re my mate.”

Maybe it was a little weird. If Geralt was entirely honest with himself, he had no idea what was happening and how it would affect him and Regis in the future. Things were bound to change, that much was certain, but he was sure Regis would have backed out of the bond had it been a possibility.

So he just leaned his head back, allowing Regis better access to his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Our discussion definitely mentioned the words "bloodfuck," "breathplay," and "knotting," so, uh. If the fancy strikes me, I might write those bits later. :D:D


End file.
